Reverentia
by Red River
Summary: "Yoshiya," Reiichi whispers, and the name shivers in his ears, like snow melting on bare skin. "What do you see when you look at me without your glasses? What do I look like to you right now?" A story in three moments tracing the distance between Reiichi and Yoshiya, and the small ways it collapses. Okuno Yoshiya/Kashiwagi Reiichi, light/pre-slash. One-shot.


A/N: I've never done much writing for manga series, but I found the relationship between Yoshiya and Reiichi in _Komatta Toki_ very compelling. For two characters who are so close, there is a strange distance between them, and that's something I wanted to explore in this short piece. The title comes from a Latin phrase " _Maior e longinquo reverentia,"_ which means "When viewed from a distance, everything is beautiful." I'll probably be posting more Komatta Toki stories soon; please enjoy. _  
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Note: Okuno Yoshiya x Kashiwagi Reiichi, light/pre-slash.

* * *

 **Reverentia**

Reiichi is taking his time.

Yoshiya leans his head back against the frigid stone that edges the onsen, takes in the silhouettes of stone lanterns and barren trees through rising curls of steam. Though it's an acclaimed establishment, the expansive grounds are deserted, the long night silent but for the slow hiss of sublimation, new snow hitting the hot flagstones and vanishing inside a breath. Unusually quiet for a vacation with the Kashiwagi family. This is probably because Reiichi's finally worn himself out, after four days of dragging Yoshiya to every significant and insignificant destination in Hokkaido. This is probably because Yoshiya picked the ryokan himself, relieved to be reserving a room for more than one night, momentarily stumbling over the proprietor's question about meals when Reiichi flopped into his lap in the back of the hired car, staring up at him through a mess of midnight-black bangs. Ultimately, it's probably because Reiichi himself has yet to make his appearance. Yoshiya wipes his lenses clear on the corner of his towel, peers through the fog toward the light above the bathhouse door. He should have set his glasses aside already, he knows that—but there's this moment he's waiting for, this split second of paramnesia he can't help indulging in…

"Yoshiya?"

The voice surprises him, straightens his spine against the stone. "Right here," he says, though he doesn't need to—there's something moving in the shadows now, a figure emerging from the fog and heading his way. Yoshiya's breath hesitates in his throat. Reiichi isn't his to look at, he has no illusions about that—but he's so beautiful like this, backlit, his damp skin glistening, the night and the single light burning over his shoulder rendering him in chiaroscuro, a vision in the steam. Yoshiya can never bring himself to look away before they've locked eyes; still, he's careful to remove his glasses long before his siren reaches the water.

He takes his time folding them, setting them aside, doesn't look back at his companion until he feels soft skin brush his shoulder, Reiichi settling in next to him. There's an expression on his face that Yoshiya can't read well; without his glasses, Reiichi is somewhat blurred, and the tendrils of steam make him seem to glow, tenuous as a mirage. The only certainty of his presence is the pressure of his chin settling into the dip of Yoshiya's shoulder, the familiar sigh curling against the shell of his ear.

"It's a shame my selfish little cousin couldn't be persuaded to come with us."

Yoshiya laughs under his breath, muses but doesn't say anything about pots and kettles, and selfishness running in the family. "You only invited Hosaka in the hopes that he'd drag Fujishima along," he replies, absently amused by the thought of those troublemakers, by how transparent Reiichi's motives are and the tiny huff that means he's guessed correctly. Reiichi splashes one restless hand against the surface of the water.

"Well, those two are pretty entertaining. Even you can't deny that."

Yoshiya doesn't deny it. He doesn't say anything. He's preoccupied by the incredible heat, not of the pool but of the body next to his, the tickle of black hair against his jaw as Reiichi tips his face up to look at him. Though they can't get any closer, there's a strange distance between them, has been for years. It probably comes from the way Reiichi sometimes stares at his left eye and then looks away too fast, like he can see the invisible scar. It probably comes from the void that opens in Yoshiya's chest sometimes when Reiichi calls him by his last name, because he can still remember when he used to be _Yoshiya_ all the time instead of only when they're alone, and he still thinks _Reiichi_ first when he stares into those shimmering black eyes, has to catch that name occasionally at the tip of his tongue when they're in larger company. He's wondered if the distance might disappear if he leaned down and pressed their lips together, right now, shattered the last barrier between them as if it were nothing but water vapor. But he's not going to do that. It's his fault that there's this splinter in Reiichi, a fragment of fear and pain and crushing guilt that he can't excise. So he stays where he is, waits silently until Reiichi stops looking for whatever he's looking for in his face and turns to stare out over the water instead, slumping down to rest his cheek against Yoshiya's collarbone.

"But, you know—it's also nice spending time with just you."

Yoshiya raises an eyebrow. "Really. So I misunderstood you in the car today, when you said you'd have as much fun traveling with the Parthenon friezes."

"I just meant in the car!" Reiichi protests, a little red. "I was bored. You were answering emails on your phone."

"I was answering _your_ emails on _your_ phone," Yoshiya reminds him, and Reiichi laughs, gives a small shrug that ricochets through Yoshiya like ripples in the water.

"Well, everyone would just be confused if they came from me."

Yoshiya shakes his head, lets it go. He doesn't mind this, the rare bickering, but it's really not their style; already Reiichi is settling again, overlapping his hands on Yoshiya's shoulder and resting his chin in the crease between his knuckles. Yoshiya turns his head just enough to make eye contact, conscious that anything else would bring them nose to nose.

"You're not boring," Reiichi tells him, barely a whisper above the world of snowflakes dissolving into steam. "I like traveling with you the most."

Yoshiya feels a smile at the corner of his lips. "Thank you. That was a matter of great concern to me."

"Hey." Reiichi frees one hand, slaps his palm down into the water—but Yoshiya thinks they're both a little shocked when the splash hits him square in the face, leaves him blinking through water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. Reiichi pulls back. "Ah—sorry, sorry! Here, I got it." And then suddenly those warm, wet hands are on his face, one braced against his jaw and the other rubbing a towel too hard across his nose, his vision just a smear of white for a long moment before the towel disappears and he's left staring down at Reiichi, who's biting his lip and laughing at the same time, the hand forgotten on Yoshiya's cheek burning like a star.

He knows Reiichi better than anyone, well enough not to be awestruck by him most of the time—but there's something about him when he's like this that always leaves Yoshiya reeling, his ribs so brittle he's afraid one breath could break them. He inhales as gently as he can.

Reiichi frowns, like there's something off in his expression. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Yoshiya says, though he's not sure it's true.

The truth is that he's in love with Kashiwagi Reiichi, and probably will be for the rest of his life, and some days he wonders if that will ruin him.

* * *

Reiichi is on his third beer, and Yoshiya should probably stop him—not least because they're underage, drinking in the company of adults, and there's some amount of trouble the ryokan could get into if the truth came out. But Reiichi is in high spirits, and that good mood seems to have suffused the other guests at their table, a rich couple and a pair of businessmen who happen to have crossed paths with the patriarch of the Kashiwagi family on a few occasions—strangers who won't be strangers anymore, if they laugh through the rest of the meal.

Yoshiya is feeling strangely light, too, but he doubts he owes that to the cup of sake he's been working on for an hour (it's useless to try not to drink when Reiichi drinks, so he just makes sure that, as a rule, he never drinks more than a third as much). It's a feeling he probably owes to the warmth of good food in his stomach, local fish cooked in a flavorful mirepoix, and if he's had more mirepoix than fish at this point it's worth it for the way Reiichi glances up at him every time his chopsticks sneak over to Yoshiya's plate. It's probably the fact that Reiichi's lost something of his usual grace since sitting down and he's got one arm thrown around Yoshiya's neck, the blue silk of his complimentary robe brushing like a fluted breath against his cheek; it's probably how good it feels to hear Reiichi laugh like this, completely unencumbered, his head thrown back and his eyes half closed as the elder businessman describes Kashiwagi Senior barging into an acquisitions meeting and whisking all parties away on his private jet because he wanted authentic Thai food for lunch. He's so enchanting when he's like this—honest, open-hearted, letting his free spirit run away with him—that it takes Yoshiya a minute to catch himself at it, thinking of his companion by the wrong name. They're in public, surrounded by other people, which means it's _Kashiwagi_ who's leaning into his shoulder, clenching his hand in Yoshiya's feather-light sleeve, laughing so hard against the skin of his neck that neither of them can breathe…but it doesn't feel like _Kashiwagi_. It feels like _Reiichi_. Yoshiya isn't drunk, but his inhibitions are just low enough to decide it's probably all right, this incursion, as long as Reiichi's pressed against him like this, sitting so close they could share one heartbeat.

Later, when the conversation has moved away from him, Yoshiya glances at his companion and finds him checking the time. It's a gesture out of place—they're on vacation, nothing to get up early for in the morning, and Reiichi's never been particularly concerned about hours and curfews in any case. It takes him longer than it should to realize he isn't looking at the time; he's just looking at his watch—well, Yoshiya's watch—flicking his wrist back and forth to watch the light run up the metal band, obscure the hands under the pristine glass face. Yoshiya feels something warm and heavy settle into his chest as he admires the fit, the band perfectly sized now to Reiichi's slender wrist. It's a trinket by Kashiwagi standards, and there's no denying that he could have so much better—but from the smile on his face, half sleepy and half drunk, it seems like he's happy with what he has. Yoshiya swallows a smile of his own, addresses himself to the conversation again before Reiichi catches him staring.

And if there's something unsteady in his pulse, a frisson of electricity searing through him when Reiichi abandons his study and lays his head against Yoshiya's shoulder, that's only to be expected. He's in love with Kashiwagi Reiichi, has been for most of his life, and by now he's forgotten how to be anything else.

* * *

Reiichi is slumped over the railing of the wraparound porch, staring out across the dark gardens with his eyes half-lidded and his sleeves trailing in the breeze, and his neck crooked at a strange angle so that his cheek rests against his elbow. Yoshiya isn't certain how he manages to be mesmerizing even like this, too inebriated to stand straight. He had left Reiichi against the railing while he helped clean up after the drunken Ping-Pong tournament and apologized to the proprietress for any nuisance they'd caused, and he'd half expected to come back and find him asleep, tipped over the railing into the stalks of dead lavender. He's surprised by the way those glittering ink-black eyes lock on him as soon as he steps out onto the walkway.

Reiichi watches without speaking as Yoshiya slides the door closed with one hand, covers the distance between them to lean against the railing at his side. The angle makes it hard to catch his fleeting smile as Reiichi tips his head sideways to rest against his shoulder.

"What are you looking at?" Yoshiya asks, so quietly he can barely hear himself.

Reiichi hums in the back of his throat. "The will-o'-the-wisps."

Yoshiya looks down at him, then away into the darkness. The candles are lit in the stone lanterns, and they flicker a little in the winter breeze, the flakes of snow evanescing like moths against the flames; he decides to give Reiichi the benefit of the doubt that he's just being poetic, isn't actually that drunk. Yoshiya pushes himself straight and lays a hand against Reiichi's arm.

"It's cold. We should head in."

Reiichi pushes himself up, too. But he doesn't stumble off the way Yoshiya expects him to, or loop his arm around his taller companion's shoulders, like he usually does when his brain is out of sync with his feet. Instead Yoshiya finds himself looking down into those attentive eyes, all drowsiness gone as Reiichi studies his face—then suddenly Yoshiya's world is somewhat out of focus as Reiichi lifts his hands and takes possession of his glasses, the stems tugging as they slide over his ears because Reiichi isn't sober enough to do this gracefully. Yoshiya blinks, already missing the clarity of corrective lenses without which the heavy shadows make it impossible to decipher his companion's expression. Reiichi sways into him and away, and Yoshiya drops a hand against his waist, holds him steady as best he can.

"Yoshiya," Reiichi whispers, and the name shivers in his ears, like snow melting on bare skin. "What do you see when you look at me without your glasses? What do I look like to you right now?"

Yoshiya takes a breath and lets it out again, tries to untangle anything in particular through the haze. Reiichi looks drunk. He looks off-kilter, hair a mess and robe tied ragged, his face red from the cold and the alcohol, his head tipped back so far it barely seems attached to his neck. He looks like a fool. But it's hard for Yoshiya to see those things, really, to see anything except the perpetual spark in his eyes, the ethereal glow that leaves him fuzzed around the edges. That's not something his glasses correct for. It's just a hazard of looking at Reiichi, an intrinsic brilliance that leaves him nearly blind.

Yoshiya doesn't remember drinking much, but apparently he's just drunk enough to be honest.

"You're breathtaking," he says.

Even with his glasses off, there's no mistaking Reiichi's smile, the flicker of his eyes closing as he tips his chin down. Yoshiya finds his glasses pushed clumsily into his hand, barely gets hold of them before Reiichi's slipping into his embrace, arms wound tight around his neck and face buried in his shoulder. Yoshiya slides his arm around Reiichi's back, pulls him close enough to taste the ryokan's lavender soap when he breathes in. It's not easy to maneuver his glasses back onto his nose one-handed, caught off guard like this, but he appreciates the return of contrast, the sharp lines of Reiichi's hair falling against the back of his neck and the way his own fingers look curled into the robe's light blue fabric. Reiichi sighs and Yoshiya feels it on his skin, in his bones, in that void in his chest, thrumming like a second heart. He sways back and forth once or twice just to feel the weight of Reiichi swaying with him.

"We should go inside," he murmurs, too soon in his own mind—and in his companion's, judging by the answering hum against his shoulder. Yoshiya lifts his free hand, cards it through soft black hair that's still damp at the tips. "Reiichi," he whispers, and holds the aftertaste of that name in his mouth, because it feels so good this close, sheltered in the shadows. Reiichi lifts his head, barely.

"Carry me."

Yoshiya blinks, his eyebrows drawn together. "What?"

Reiichi nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder. "Carry me." Yoshiya feels those long arms tighten around his neck, Reiichi leaning into him so completely that his heels have left the ground. "It's your fault, anyway," he says, less a sound than a vibration, "for making me weak in the knees."

Yoshiya isn't sure what to take from that. He's not sure how cognizant Reiichi is right now, less sure how much of this he'll remember. But even if it's nothing, even if these are just words spoken into the fading wind, he can't help himself—he's already bending down, tucking his arm under Reiichi's knees and pulling him up, off of his feet.

Reiichi's heavier than he expected, and for a moment he's off balance, leaning hard against the railing; but at last he gets his feet under him, takes his first step down the long, dark porch. He's sure they look like complete fools, staggering off like this, but there's no one to see them anyway, and his steps are getting surer, each one easier than the last as he adjusts to a shorter stride. Reiichi's looking up at him with wide eyes, more than a little surprised, Yoshiya can tell, to be indulged like this. But he can't set him down now, not when there's a tiny, astonished smile curving Reiichi's lips, not when he swallows a laugh and then tucks his head against Yoshiya's chest, right over the heart that's always been his.

"Hold on," Yoshiya says, so long after the fact—but Reiichi does it anyway, tightens his grip, sags against him like Yoshiya's carrying him out of a depthless sea. Yoshiya spares a glance out over the darkened grounds at the lanterns burning like beacons in the soundless night.

"Can you really carry me all the way to the room?" Reiichi asks into his shirt. Yoshiya just smiles, rests his cheek against the top of his head.

"Yes," he says, because this isn't a promise that's hard to make. He's in love with Kashiwagi Reiichi, will be for the rest of his life, and sometimes he wonders if that will ruin him—but it doesn't matter, because even if he comes apart in the end, it will be such a beautiful fall.


End file.
